Page 28 of Holly Jolly Heat
"Sorry," I said quietly. "Didn't mean to startle you. I was going to scout the property for filming locations."
"At six AM?"
"Best light is early morning or late evening. I'm chasing the golden hour."
Something in her expression softened. "Of course you are. You're always thinking about the shot."
"It's what I do." I moved into the kitchen slowly, giving her space to retreat if she wanted. "Coffee smells good."
"Want some?"
"If you're offering."
She pulled down a second mug, and I noticed she didn't ask how I took it. Just added cream and one sugar, exactly right, and handed it to me.
"How did you know?" I asked.
Michelle's cheeks flushed slightly. "You mentioned it once. In an email. Six months ago. You were complaining about a coffee shop getting your order wrong."
She'd remembered. From one casual mention in a professional email six months ago.
My alpha wanted to purr, to press close, to mark her as ours right there in her mother's kitchen.
Instead, I wrapped my hands around the warm mug and said, "Thank you."
We stood in comfortable silence, drinking coffee as dawn light slowly filled the kitchen. Outside the window, I could see the backyard taking shape in the growing light, perfect for filming, actually. The Douglas fir would make an excellent backdrop.
"You're planning shots," Michelle observed.
"Always. Can't turn it off."
"I know the feeling. I'm always planning schedules and strategies. Even now, part of my brain is working through your content calendar."
"Even though we're supposed to be separating professional and personal?"
"Professional Michelle doesn't have an off switch." She took another sip of coffee. "It's kind of a problem."
"It's kind of amazing," I corrected. "You built an entire business on that drive."
"Built a business, destroyed my work-life balance, forgot how to relax." She shook her head. "Sasha, my best friend, says I've been running from anything personal since my dad died."
"Are you?" I asked gently. "Running?"
Michelle was quiet for a long moment, staring into her coffee like it held answers.
"I don't know how to not run," she finally admitted. "Emotions are messy. Unpredictable. Relationships end badly. But work? Work has clear metrics. Clear goals. I can control work."
"You can't control a pack bond."
"No." She looked up at me. "Which is why it's terrifying."
I wanted to close the distance between us. Wanted to cup her face and promise her that letting go of control wouldn't mean losing herself. That we'd catch her.
But we'd agreed to slow. To boundaries. To letting her set the pace.
So instead I said, "Want to help me scout locations? Show me Cedar Falls through your eyes?"
She blinked, surprised. "Now?"
